


Rendezvous with Cato Hostilius

by ikkka



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, M/M, Peeping, They/Them Pronouns for the Courier, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkka/pseuds/ikkka
Summary: Cato Hostilius dons his disguise.





	Rendezvous with Cato Hostilius

**Author's Note:**

> an idea i had a long time ago. finally got around to writing it. enjoy!

_ One of my Frumentarii has set up camp near Hoover Dam. His name is Cato Hostilius. Go to him. He’ll have further instructions. _

 

At the crack of dawn, the Courier awoke to peculiar shuffling noises.

 

Caesar had sent the Courier on another mission; to assassinate President Kimball of the NCR. Easy enough, as assassinations go. The Courier was directed to meet with one Cato Hostilius, and so the Courier did. They set up a small camp together to sleep through the night, as the President’s arrival at the Dam wasn’t until tomorrow.

 

They had set up a fire, and after lounging around it in general silence for a good chunk of time, they both retired. And now, the Courier lay, awoken by those shuffling noises.

 

Slowly opening their eyes, the Courier could peek out over the top of their sleeping bag, and peer over to see that Cato was not in his sleeping bag. Not much visibility was granted where the Courier lay, but the shuffling noise wasn’t too far away, and the logical assumption the Courier came to was that Cato was up and doing something.

 

The Courier wiggled a little bit up to try and get a clearer line of sight, but they didn’t move much, since they weren’t sure whether they wanted their conscious state to be known just yet. The Courier was the type the gage their surroundings before they jumped into things. They wanted to know what was going on before they were forced to learn in the moment.

 

The Courier would stop wondering soon, however, as when Cato walked right in front of their sleeping bag to rummage through a sack of his belongings, the Courier could see plenty.

 

Bare ass, completely naked, Cato bent over to pull some clothes out of his sack, and the Courier got a full view. The man had an incredible physique, no doubt chiseled over time through his loyal service to Caesar. Caesar’s Legion was all about combat, after all, and only the strongest survive in such a hostile environment. The Courier drank in every visible muscle tone, the way Cato’s legs tensed up and relaxed as he balanced bent over, but of course the Courier had a hard time taking their eyes off of his glutes, of which were definitely made out of mostly muscle, and hardly any fat. They were almost drooling.

 

Cato eventually found what he was looking for, and when he turned around, the Courier quickly shut their eyes and pretended to be asleep. Cato took one glance and fell for it. He lowered himself onto his sleeping bag, and with one final look for reassurance, began putting his disguise on.

 

The Courier did not know the consequences of getting caught, but they couldn’t bear to pass up an opportunity like this, so they opened their eyes just the tiniest bit. Their vision was blurry and mostly made up of eyelash, but that was better than no vision at all. As Cato pulled his legs through his boxers and attempted to wiggle them up while sitting down, the Courier got a nice view in between his legs. Cato was definitely well-hung, but not too big either; a desirable package the Courier, for lack of better words, wished to deliver swiftly. The Courier was good with packages. The view was short-lived though, as Cato was quick in putting his boxers on, and he moved onto his socks.

 

The Courier could get a good look at his hands, and a good look the Courier did get. They were strong and manly, hands that had seen many years of hard, constant work, and the Courier could appreciate that. Their hands were much the same. The wasteland was a tough and cruel world to live in, and without some manpower and capability with hands, it was almost impossible to survive. The Courier admired the faint patches of hair on Cato’s knuckles, which connected to a bigger patch on the back of his hands, which connected to his arms. His body hair was definitely there and was a dark brown much like his beard and head hair, but it wasn’t very thick; not too little, not too much.

 

After Cato was done with his socks, he began to put on his disguise’s pants, and the Courier only continued to stare from their lidded eyes, closing them whenever they thought they were being too risky with their peeping. Although the most exciting bits were done now, the Courier took the chance to admire Cato's still-bare chest. Dark brown, curly hair that the Courier couldn't help but want to run their fingers through dusted his chest, more concentrated in the middle. Those pecs, with nipples hard from the cool, dawn air, looked to be perfectly shaped for the Courier's palms. They wanted to trace their fingers downwards, feel the sides of Cato's midsection, count the dips and rises of his muscles. Cato had a lovely happy trail, which Courier got to soak in the base of earlier, that got lighter and thinner the higher it went up, cutting off at his belly button. Cato finished buttoning up his pants, and the Courier could only think about how much they'd love to unbutton them with their own fingers, pull his pants down, and then his boxers, and…

 

Cato's eyes met the Courier's. Just for a quick second, and then the Courier immediately clamped their eyes shut, but the damage was done. Eyes glued closed, the Courier sent their prayers to whatever God was still out there.

 

"Good morning." Cato spoke. His tone was hard and icy. He pulled his shirt over his head and swiftly pulled his arms through his suit jacket. The Courier gulped, but responded,

 

"Good morning."


End file.
